I’ve found myself a lot wondering lately at the deeper reason behind this long, crazy journey we call the World Race. Why is it, I wonder, that I had to travel like this to discover who I am?
I heard a story once that’s been so helpful for me in answering this question…
Once, there lived a wealthy farmer with his son. The farmer had worked the land well, and over time, he amassed a small fortune. As his stewardship paid off, he was able to purchase more fields, hire hands to farm the land, and grow his estate into a large and reputable mansion.
While his prowess and wealth grew, the farmer never allowed arrogance or bitter pride to poison his soul. He shared all he owned with his son, teaching him the ways of wisdom and honor. An honorable man never treated his servants poorly in momentary anger or lashed out at them to validate the ego. The son was instructed rather to speak to a servant as one would to an equal, with deference and respect. He witnessed the honor his father showed to his servants in their pay, and over time was granted more and more responsibility and enabled to have his share of the estate.
Though the young man’s influence grew, a part of his heart remained always discontent. The boy heard an aching song, echoing again and again within his heart, continually questioning, Is there more? If I leave my father’s lands, will I find a greater future?
The boy knew his path well—he was to stay at home, and one day everything that his father had earned would be his, and he might settle happily with a wife to father children of his own.
Yet within, the boy entertained notions of what might happen should he venture afar to seek his own fortune. Dreams filled his mind, dreams of leaving the comforts of home. Though he had all he ever needed, the boy couldn’t rid himself of these thoughts of adventure, of true risk, and all that might come should he choose to lay his life on the line.
You see, some part of his heart knew that if he were to remain in the safety of his father’s protection, he would never move past that initial discontent. So one morning, bags filled with all the money and possessions that were his to keep, the young man set out in search of his heart’s desire. He chose the harder road of discomfort, of abandon, leaving behind what was expected of him for what lay deep inside.
Passing through the village nearest his father’s estate, the boy could hear the murmurs of the townsmen: “Isn’t this ––‘s son?” “What does he intend to do, leaving home before harvest?” “Doesn’t he know the path his father has laid out for him?”
He knew the names they called him—Disobedient. Divergent. Ungrateful.
Yet the song in the boy’s heart was strong, and he continued on his journey. He traveled days and nights to far-away cities, where he put his father’s training and resources to good use. The young man made connections and exercised wisdom, and over time, his possessions began to grow.
He traveled often, experiencing exotic cultures, finding fresh hope each time he entered a new city, for he knew, as do all wanderers, that each city has a subtle beat, a rhythm. Those who hear the music night and day don’t seem to notice it, but upon arrival to a new town, that pulse was utterly irresistible. Wherever the boy went, he found new echoes of the song in his soul, and had great hopes and high expectations. But it seemed that the more he wandered, the discontent in his heart grew only larger.
Ego has a manner of comfort to the lowly, particularly to those ambitious few who find that providence lies in their favor, and as the man’s wealth grew, so did the darkness in his soul. He found over time that he didn’t hear his heart’s song as he used to, nor remember it. So he grew knowledgeable in the ways of women, of finance, and forgot to feel the longing in his soul.
A vast city in the desert became home to him, and he grew ever more careless to the words of his father. The man forgot the ways of wisdom taught to him in his youth, choosing little by little, time after time, that risky rush brought about by gambling, sex. When he won money, he drank to celebrate. When his money was lost, he drank as well, brooding over his ego. Bitter pride grew in his heart, and misfortune became his mistress in the dark.
She visited him frequently, and as his wealth drained away like sand blowing from his fingers, the walls around his heart began to crumble away. He was reminded of the ache he’d felt as a younger man, of the cities he’d traveled through in search of fulfillment, and eventually, the father he had left behinds. His father’s words returned to his soul in the sobriety of loss, and the man’s heart grew still at the thought of returning to the home he’d abandoned so long before.
In that moment, the man knew he had found the answer he’d desired. He knew he had to travel this far afield to realize he had possessed that which he sought before he ever began. He had lost all he had—reputation, youth, money—yet on this lowliest of afternoons spent staring enviously into the camel’s trough, he knew he’d found the treasure he’d set out to uncover. Though he’d been a fool and had no way to know whether his father lived, or if his love should remain for a wayward son, the man knew his journey had been worth it all in seeing what he truly had to lose in the first place.
And though he had not received what he hoped to, for the first time in many years, the man’s heart became still and happy.
I’ve changed many of the details and omitted the ending, but I hope this story strikes you as familiar. It’s one that Jesus told, more commonly referred to as the story of the Prodigal Son (you can find the full version in Luke 15, verses 11-32).
Most American Christians love this story, and for good reason. It’s a beautiful story of repentance, the Father’s faithfulness to forgive, and his mercy for all our trespasses against him. But often, I wonder if we really believe what this story tells us.
Don’t you see it? The story of the Prodigal Son is the tale of someone who left the common road to find God. He left behind the safe and simple home he grew up in, and discovered the Lord’s love as a result. Not once does the father offer rebuke for the son’s ignorance or sin, and he never chides him for leaving home.
I think deep down, the Father knew his son would never realize his love unless he left.
The son was transformed by this very act of leaving. We often get so focused on his coming home that we miss this truth—because the son left home and did what was frowned upon, he met God’s love. Because he risked everything and failed miserably, he was able to receive his father’s love for the first time. And he certainly didn’t return to the same home he’d left, because he returned bearing a new, broken heart. The Prodigal Son is a story of a man who had to leave his home to know God.
I think too much of the time we make the mistake of assuming we’re that son, though. It’s a very Western assumption—whoever the protagonist of the story is, that’s the one I’m supposed to relate to. But the genius of what Jesus does is in building in a character much more reflective of our hearts…the older brother. The one who’s merely upset over the younger son’s forgiveness, because “I never effed up that much!”
90% of us weren’t meant to identify with the younger son; we are the older son, too blinded in our pride to do anything other than judge the brother who did what we were too fearful to do—risk everything and fail.
We’re usually too upset to realize that the one who left home did something we never could—actually receive the father’s love. Because what does Jesus say to the older brother? “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” What a powerful statement! But, I wonder, would he need to be told it if he actually believed it? When I look at this story, the younger brother is the one who ends up actually understanding God’s heart.
That, I think, is why I had to leave home: to realize that time after time, I’ve been the older brother, judging others for leaving the church or buying into “sketchy” theology or just being honest about the fact that they were on a journey with the Lord.
While I’ve stayed safe, warm, and dry at home.
Unrealizing that sometimes, to find God, you have to leave the too-small god you’ve believed in for the sake of the real Mystery.
And certainly not seeing that my judgement toward them was simply my ego justifying my fear to leave home myself.
Until I started leaving my safety, I never believed that statement.
“Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.”
I couldn’t believe it until I saw how it stands true in real, messy, unclear life time after time. But now I know it more firmly than anything else in me. So, I think, do all those who are willing to wander for the sake of the real Mystery, for the sake of the Spirit’s song in their heart.
God’s peace,
~Joel
